


Look to the Sky

by thesecondseal



Series: Acts of Reclamation [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action, Alcohol, Canon-Typical Violence, Demons, Drunken Confessions, F/M, Friendship, Herald's Rest, Horses, Mages and Templars, Nightmares, Original Character(s), Romance, Skyhold, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Sparring, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-03-29 16:59:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3903970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecondseal/pseuds/thesecondseal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the loss of Haven, Essa must learn to balance her responsibilities as Inquisitor with tentative hopes for her own future. Tensions with the newly recruited templars lead to mock combat and real violence. Drunken revelry leads to more confessions than she had planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Warrior

**Author's Note:**

> Essa's Drabble "Champion of the Just" falls between the end of Of Mages and Templars and the first chapter of Seeking Haven. It isn't necessary for reading, but as it was written out of context, I thought I would make a note of where it actually fits. :)

Cullen missed her laughter. For all that Essa’s presence could be felt in every corner of Skyhold, the sound of her laughter was painfully absent. She was not the woman she had been before they lost Haven, flirting and joking with everyone she cared for. When she slept, which was not enough, it was in her horse’s stall. Cullen thought that Blackwall had taken the barn loft as much for his own privacy as to keep an eye on Essa. There were moments when he envied the man his proximity, but mostly, he was thankful that Dennet and Blackwall were nearby. She wasn’t up to full mobility yet.

She should have been resting, Cullen thought as he watched her across the garden. There was plenty to do, but they were still licking their wounds, hiding in their new mountain stronghold thankful that no one was looking for them. Essa had dealt their enemy a significant blow. Surely she had bought them enough time that she shouldn’t be kneeling in the derelict beds trying to clear weeds and ice with one hand from a heavily shadowed corner.

And still, there she was, attacking who knew how many years of neglect with the same tenacity she brought to her training and drills. Her left arm was still in a sling; mark covered by the heavy bindings Solas had wrapped her in to keep her wrist still while it healed. She had withstood about as much coddling as she could on the trek to Skyhold. They hadn’t realized her arm was still injured until she lifted the sword of the Inquisition over her head. They had found out later that the tears in her eyes were not sentimentality, but pain. It was only her pride for her people that kept her from dropping the damn thing.

They had learned some interesting facts about their Inquisitor since settling into the keep. Essa had flat refused any additional healing from the mages. And she was more obstinate than they had originally believed. Any mage fool enough to suggest that they had the extra time or mana for the Inquisitor was immediately sent to the medical ward.

“If you have energy for me,” Essa always grumbled. “Then you can give it to someone in greater need.”

Eventually they stopped offering. The Tevinter wasn’t a skilled healer and Solas—to everyone’s aggravation—seemed to be in agreement with Essa.

“Let her rest,” he had replied to Cullen’s too oft voiced worries. “She recovers daily. She will be gone from Skyhold soon enough and the time healing and bonding with her people and her new home will have been well spent.”

Gone, Cullen thought in annoyance. As if his concern was simply that she was underfoot.

She was underfoot though, and Maker help him, he liked having her around every day, even if he couldn’t get his balance. Something had changed in Essa since they arrived at Skyhold. She hadn’t wanted the power that came with the mantle of Inquisitor, but she had taken up the domestic duties of leadership without any of the same reluctance. Her care for the fortress and its people was almost maternal. She carried around so many lists that Sera had given her a small leather messenger bag to carry them around in. Notes on repairs, supplies, housing. Most people were still sleeping in tents on the castle grounds, but Essa had priority lists of families with children or injured or elderly, people she wanted with a proper roof over their heads as soon as possible.

Last week, she had caught the masons as they were attempting to begin repairs to her quarters. It was the first argument she and Josephine had had, and Cullen was willing to bet one of the few Josie had ever lost. There were greater needs elsewhere, Essa had insisted. She wasn't going to sleep there anyway.

He watched as she reached for the rubbish bin beside her, fingers full of twigs and dead roots, hand stretching into empty air. She had already moved too far away in her labors.

“Allow me.” Cullen hurried across the brittle ground to retrieve the bin for her.

Essa glanced up from her work, shadows lifting from her eyes in her surprise to see him.

“Thank you,” she said, stumbling over what to call him. “Thank you, Commander.”

He set the bin down close to her unbound arm.

“How are you feeling?” he asked with as much concern as he dared.

He knew Essa would not thank him for it. Cullen crouched beside her to avoid staring down at where she knelt in the dead grass.

“Fine,” she replied too quietly, eyes sliding over him and away.

Cullen hesitated. “Essa—“

She glared at him. _Glared._  Taken aback, Cullen began again.

“Inquisitor.”

But her expression didn’t change. Cullen ran one hand through his hair.

“Have I done something—?”

She shook her head, stopped his words with the force of her unspoken negation. He regarded her curiously and waited. Essa enjoyed companionable quiet, but not the bated breath of forced silence. Long, taut moments stretched between them until Cullen began to wonder if she thought to outwait him.

“I have been afraid to be alone with you,” Essa said finally, the words filled with soft violence.

Cullen blinked at her. “We’re hardly alone now.”

There were others working in the garden. Mother Giselle, a few of the chantry sisters from Haven, a handful of children too young to be unattended, but too old to not be given chores. No one was close, but it would take only a raised voice to secure another’s attention. He could not imagine anything that would have made her feel unsafe with him. She knew his past, and he had believed her when she said it hadn’t changed how she saw him.

“Why?” he asked in confusion.

Essa laughed softly then, the edges like an assassin's dart.

“So many reasons,” she admitted. “Mostly my own fear.”

He didn’t tell her that she shouldn’t be afraid. “What of friendship?”

His query shocked her. Essa’s eyes widened and light flared behind storm cloud grey.

“What?” she demanded crossly.

Essa clapped a hand over her mouth at the too-loud sound and Cullen couldn’t stop his smile.

“I don’t know about you,” he said carefully choosing his words, “but I do not have so many friends that I would reject one because I feared whatever else might lie between us.”

She scowled at him, tossing her head in agitation. He watched her consider and discard a number of angry retorts before she finally snapped at him accusingly. “I thought I was supposed to be the reasonable one.”

There was a wide smudge of dirt across her temple and her sling was crooked. She had just been made the leader of the Inquisition and she was working on vegetable beds while they were still clearing snow from the garden. Cullen’s smile broadened.

“You can be,” he said, leaning forward to drop a friendly kiss on her forehead,“but not today.”

And then, while she was still reeling, Cullen rose to his feet and staged a strategic retreat from the garden.

 


	2. Heart Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The attack on Haven has changed the Inquisition. Essa struggles to figure out just what that means for all of them.

_For interminable moments, Essa struggled. Fighting past flashes of insight and knowing. Half dreams, faint impressions of memory.  Varric’s voice reading or telling her a story. Something wonderfully sweeping and noble about a boy and his faithful mabari hound. A brush of fur against her reaching hand. Cracking her eyes just enough to glimpse Cullen’s surcoat. A giggle then, the sound parched enough that Vivienne’s cool fingers lifted her neck. Water sliding in cool benediction. Cassandra applying a cold rag to her forehead and removing the extra layers of well-intended—but bloody miserable—blankets. Solas, strength in the Fade, a vanguard between her and more complicated dreamings._

_She could hear the sounds of other treasured voices. Leliana, Josie, Cullen, and Cassandra were hotly debating their next step. There had been no sign of Corypheus, no pursuit through the storm that had by some miracle, not added to the list of Haven’s casualties. She didn’t know how long they had been arguing, days she figured considering how much better she felt. It seemed that every time she drifted close to waking, she heard the same flow of voices. The same fears and concerns. She had no idea how to assuage them, but she knew she couldn’t start by hiding in the healing tent._

_So much death lay behind them. Terror still stung the night, running in unfading eddies through the camp.  The ordinary noises of the displaced people of Haven held haunting echoes. The soft cry of a child was somehow more plaintive. The calls of Leliana’s crows were strident and threatening as they sought their mistress amid the high walls of the Frostbacks._

Essa realized then that she was caught in the first waking memories after she had stumbled from a shattered Haven. It was a mild haunting, but one that she still met with dread. She hadn’t been ready to talk faith with Mother Giselle. To hear that she and so many others believed that Andraste had chosen Essa to stand against the Elder One. Essa was worse than a nonbeliever. She was a Chantry outsider—a heretic—and she had been since long before the Conclave exploded. She didn’t know why she had such a dubious talent for survival, but she had stopped questioning it. That didn’t mean Essa thought she was anyone’s savior. Then the blighted singing had started. That was how she had to think of it. Cavalierly and falsely derisive so that she didn’t feel the crushing weight of so much faith. So that she didn’t admit that something in her heart had uncaged when Leliana’s voice lifted to the stars.

Then Cullen.

Essa clawed her way from the Fade’s lingering, waking with a brutal jolt. Her mind was fuzzy and reaching, awareness straining to place herself in surroundings that were not yet familiar. She was spending too much time in the Fade with Solas, but the knowledge he offered her was too precious to pass on and she felt she owed it to Cole to learn everything she could about spirits.

She thought she knew demons well enough.

She had a hard time coming back though. Solas assured her this would improve with time, but for now, Essa struggled back through too many recent worries before she emerged, tired and groggy from sleep that brought no rest.

And she always woke thinking of him. Essa sighed, the loud exhalation turning to a low groan as she slowly stretched too tense muscles. The sweet smell of fresh hay grounded her, the prickly press brought her back to the present. She rubbed her eyes with one hand, reached blindly with the other to brush her fingertips across the hard, smooth surface of Geri’s hoof. Her hand fumbled up to warm skin and coat, fingers tangling in the long hair that hung from his fetlock. She gave a tug and was rewarded with a concerned nuzzle. When she opened her eyes, the soft pools of Geri’s deep brown gaze were the first things she saw.

They temporarily chased away the memory of lion’s gold.

Essa placed a kiss on the bay’s forehead, then leaned her head against him. She would be lost without him and Fin, she thought with rarely indulged moroseness. She needed to rest, she thought, a ridiculous notion considering she had just awoken, but there it was. She was nearly healed and soon it would be time to get back out on the road. She looked to that distance with unrestrained longing. She needed to feel like Essa again, not the Herald of Andraste or the Inquisitor.

“You’re such a liar,” she rebuffed herself softly.

Geri whickered as if in agreement and Essa glared at him.

“Out with it, Essa.”

Fin’s voice came from the other side of the stall door startling Essa so hard that she cracked her head into Geri’s. The horse was utterly nonplussed which only earned him another glare from his lady. He had known Fin was there and not warned her.

“Out with what?” Essa asked, dragging herself to her feet and brushing hay from her clothes.

“It’s been three weeks,” Fin said, blue eyes roaming her face in concern. “No more lonesome brooding.”

He opened the stall door for her, holding out a pail with his other hand.

“I have breakfast and the only souls stirring in the keep are the watch and the kitchen staff. Now, where do you want to go?”

It was within her to refuse, but Fin was her most beloved friend and he knew it. He was not above using that knowledge against her.

“I could order you to leave me alone,” she said mulishly, closing the stall door behind her.

“No, you can’t,” he returned, affably. “I outrank you.”

She nearly tripped as she fell into step beside him.

“You can’t be serious.” There was no arrogance in the half-query, only laughing disbelief.  “When did that happen?”

“Sometime at Haven,” Fin replied with a shrug. “About the time your advisors realized they needed me to act as ambassador for their volatile Herald.”

“Volatile?!” Essa nearly shrieked.

Fin raised his brows at her in mild admonishment and she lowered her voice.

“I am not volatile,” she hissed.

It was truly a miracle that he didn’t laugh at her as they made their way across the yard.

“Where are we going?” she asked as they climbed the stairs to the second level.

“Battlements,” Fin said, pointing with his chin to the stairs near the tavern.

Essa glanced back over her shoulder toward the command tower.

“I saw that.”

“Saw what?” she asked with admirably feigned innocence.

The yard was quiet, the moons hung softly above the jagged ridge of the far horizon, unfathomable distance between them. The air was cold; frost coated the highest plateaus of the crenelated parapet. Fin was bundled in heavy wool, cheeks bright in the moonlight. Essa kept her own council, knowing that her time to do so was limited as they made their way up the long empty stairs. She nodded politely to the watch at the top as she and Fin walked down to the crumbling tower for which Essa had too many hopes. Fin sank into a corner, out of the worst of the wind, and began unpacking their breakfast.

“The Breach is closed,” Fin said.

Essa sighed. “Does that mean my reprieve is over?”

“It does. Though you’re carrying even more now than you were. You gonna volunteer your burdens, or am I going to have to ask pointed questions that you won’t like?”

She slid down to sit, legs folded before her, back nestled against the wall adjacent to him. She placed her hands on the floor and reached for her magic. Her fire came more and more easily of late. Her connection to the Fade was stronger and she was remembering that flame was not always destruction. Sometimes it was the warmth of a hearth, safety, and healing.

Fin murmured in approval and handed her an empty mug. “You’re getting really good at that.”

“Thank you,” Essa said, holding her cup steady as he poured from a carefully wrapped tea pot. “It’s strange, not immediately thinking of myself—of my magic—as someone else’s weapon.”

“Did you use your magic in your work for Aubreg?” Fin asked in slight confusion.

He knew of course, what she had done. She couldn’t have made him false by accepting his love with such secrets between them.

Essa shook her head. “No, but anything so feared had to be a terrible weapon,” she said with a shrug.

It was Fin’s turn to sigh. “Even among mages…”

He let the question fall to the warm stones between them.

“You can’t blame them for not trusting me,” Essa told him, watching his eyes harden in her defense.

They weren’t just talking about the mages in her former Circle and she knew it. He and Cullen both had been worrying about the templars at every turn. And maybe she should have been, but right now they had enough to worry about without borrowing trouble from the future.

“I will always be an unknown,” she said, pausing to sip the strong, spiced tea. “No one else has the misfortune of knowing me so well as you, Fin.”

Slowly he answered her tentative smile with one of his own.

“Put yourself in their shoes,” she continued. “I came into my magic too old. Way too old for anyone who didn’t know better to actually believe it.  I was an apostate for a year. Most still think that my family kept my magic a secret, harbored me until I lost all control and forced the truth out.”

They sat in silence, drinking their tea. Fin broke a hunk of warm bread from a dark loaf, smeared it with elderberry jam and passed it to her.  He waited for her eyes to close in bliss around a too generous bite and then asked:

“So why are you suddenly avoiding the Commander? Did he do something I need to take a hammer to his knees for?”

Essa’s eyes flew open and in them Fin read her every secret.  She shook her head vehemently, choking down her bread and soothing her throat with tea before she spoke.

“You see too much, Fin,” she accused, tears standing in her eyes.

She had known him for the entirety of his life, and if there was anyone with two legs who knew her as well as her father, it was Fin. Their history kept her honest, but there were too many times when she looked at Fin and saw him as a child, laughing in the stable with Diar. When he gazed at her—as he was doing now—through the memories they shared, she saw a pair of lost green eyes instead of blue the color of a summer sky.

“Essa,” Fin began.

His hand closed over hers and even through his warm, practical gloves, Essa could feel years of work, callouses that the child she left behind in her father’s stable had not born. For all the ease between them, there were also so many years. He let her forget that he was a man grown. Allowed her to love him for who he had been and would always be to her. Essa put her cup down. His arms opened as she moved, gathering her close, tucking her head beneath his chin as if she were the younger.

“Diar wouldn’t want—“ Fin whispered into morning’s encroachment.

“I know,” Essa whispered back tearfully. “I _wish_ it were so simple as lingering grief.”

But it wasn’t. Fin’s chest rose and fell in a long, worried sigh.

“You need more sleep,” he admonished gently. “Cole is safe enough. Even the most suspicious templars honor your word. No traipsing through the Fade with Solas, Essa. Not for a few days.”

He was right. She had known when she woke up that morning that she needed a break.

“Are you warm enough?” Essa asked.

The stones beneath them still held heat, and the sun was a specter chasing the moons from the sky.

“I am,” he replied. “Will you nap here for a bit?”

His arms tightened around her as she nodded against his chest.

“I love you, Fin,” she declared softly. “And if I were remotely your type, I’d be inclined to ignore that age difference.”

Fin chuckled, pressed a kiss to her hair. “You could have suitors aplenty, your grace,” he said teasing. “Be glad I’m not one of them.”

“Yes, Ambassador Larkson.”

She fell asleep between her next breaths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10 of Cullen Drabbles "Essa's Boots" falls between this chapter and the next. It is pure fluff and not required reading, but as this is the correct chronology, I wanted to make a note of it. :)


	3. Honorable Intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Essa's causing havoc, but she has the best of intentions. Truly. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10 of Cullen Drabbles "Essa's Boots" falls just before this chapter. It is pure fluff and not necessary for the plot of the books, but I wanted to make a note of the correct chronology. :)

The youngest templars were a problem. Brash, arrogant, still too full of the sense of divine sanction that had motivated them to take their vows in the first place.  Cullen remembered the feeling. He tried not to hold it against them. That the Inquisition had chosen their side only reinforced their righteousness. They viewed the mage Inquisitor one of two ways: as a trap waiting to detonate around them or as a Circle enchanter who still knew her proper place.

Neither was true and both misjudgments waited—like a demon at the thinnest stretches of the Veil—to destroy the tentative alliance.

Strategically, Essa had made a sound decision. Cullen was better equipped to train, lead, and assign templars to aid in Inquisition interests. Mages would have been disastrous, no doubt their leadership would have fallen to Lady Vivienne or Essa, the latter with dire consequences. But it was harder than he had expected, having Skyhold filled with templar red.

There were too many familiar faces. The cadence of speech, if not the actual voices, were hauntings threatening to drag him back to a man he couldn’t be. The slips came too easily, _knight-captain, knight-commander_. He wasn’t a templar anymore, but they were. Essa had not disbanded the order, though he knew she had been advised by some to do so.

And sometimes he wished she had.

“Uh…Commander?”

The voice was muted by hesitancy and four inches of oak as it drifted from the other side of one of the heavy doors to Cullen’s office.

“Come in,” he called loudly not glancing up from the troop roster for the next set of movements in the Emerald Graves.

The young templar who walked into his office looked as if he expected a beating for his interruption. Cullen frowned slightly. He’d been having a rough few days. Had he been taking it out on those around him and not realized it. It seemed unlikely. Essa was home from her first brief foray since they lost Haven. Both she and Cassandra would surely have brought his behavior to his attention before their men and women reached the point of cringing before him.

“Ser, you might—“

But he didn’t get to finish. Through the now open door, Cullen could hear the shouting from the yard. Too many voices raised in a crash and beneath that the too familiar sounds of steel and wood clashing against steel and wood.

“It’s the Inquisitor,” the templar said, voice shaking. “She’s taking all challengers.”

“She’s _what_?”

There was a quiet menace in the final word of Cullen’s query. As they made their way down to the yard, he wondered idly if they had a successor chosen in the event of Essa’s demise.

There was a rather large number of men and women crowded against the rails of the training circle. Cullen ran a cursory glance over those gathered to ascertain that no one was shirking watch or guard duties because of the spectacle. He spotted Varric just ahead of him. The dwarf was already clearing a path through the throngs. Cullen fell in behind him, adding his voice and height to Varric’s more moderate cajoling.

“Nice of you to join us, Curly,” Varric tossed the cheerful words over his shoulder. “Wouldn’t want you to miss this.”

“I am going to kill her,” Cullen muttered in reply.

As they drew closer to the ring, the templars and soldiers who had gathered called out to their commander with high spirits and no small amount of pride. A few mistaken believed he had come to join in the fray, clearly there was none among them to remember the debacle back in Haven when Essa’s training had come to near death blows between them. He kept his gaze straight ahead, acknowledging salutes and “sers” with a brief nods.

A particularly loud blow sounded over the crowd. Cullen heard Cassandra’s voice raise to call for a break between rounds.

“TWO MINUTES!”

Cullen and Varric had nearly reached the training pen when the crowd shifted enough for Cullen to see over it. He barely checked a groan. Essa was indeed taking all challengers. But not one at the time. No, that would have been a spike of reason in a situation that was obviously lacking all. There were currently two men in ring with her. They looked just slightly sweatier and more harried than she did.

Only one wore templar red. Cullen’s eyes narrowed. Just what was their Inquisitor up to?

Essa leaned against the far rail, her wide grin split in two places, blood splatters on the front of her leather jacket. Vivienne and Cassandra stood on the other side of the wooden barricade, calmly giving what he could only assume were meant to be helpful suggestions to the new knight-enchanter. Cullen reached up, rubbing wearily at the spiraling tension in his neck.

When he opened the gate and stepped into the ring the crowd erupted in a roar. Their fervor surprised him. Shouts of pride and encouragement filtered to him through the din. The templars thought he had come to champion them; the Inquisition soldiers thought he had come to represent their side. Cullen summoned as genuine a smile for his forces as he could muster and made his way to where Essa, Vivienne, and Cassandra stood.

“Who,” he asked, his tone remarkably even to his own ears, “is responsible for this madness?”

Lady Vivienne was unimpressed with his restraint. Cassandra cleared her throat. He could hear the perfectly reasonable explanation even before she opened her mouth to give it. But Essa?

Essa leaned against the rail, every inch of her relaxed and indolent. Her feet were crossed at the ankles, her new boots covered in dust. She held a wooden practice sword in one hand, and her staff angled beside her, supported against her shoulder. Cullen couldn’t remember seeing her so comfortable before so many people.

“That would be me,” she said, finishing a gulp of water from the dipper she was holding.

Her own watered-down blood dripped from her chin. This was how she thought she should spend her downtime? Cullen glared at her.

“You’re leaving tomorrow,” he reminded her, as if she needed it.

“I am,” she agreed, smiling. “Before winter settles in fully and the passes freeze closed.”

It was already decided. Essa would take Dorian, the Iron Bull, and Sera down into Ferelden for the winter. There were plenty of missions requiring her attention and just as many practical reasons for her to be away from Skyhold and out of the Frostbacks for the coldest months, but none of them were really looking forward to her departure.

Well, none of them but Essa.

“And you thought that this was the best use of your last day at Skyhold?” he asked with strained patience.

Essa’s grin broadened and she stepped close to him to whisper. “Look at your troops, Commander. They’re united for the first time since fleeing Haven. Now, tell me what better way than pitting a team of templar and Inquisition soldier against their half-mage leader?”

Half-mage. The words were telling, and they may even have been accurate, but that was a conversation for another time.

She was taunting him; her eyes were bright with barely contained laughter.

“Alright,” Cullen said, a smirk teasing his lips. “If you’re going to do this for morale, let’s do it properly, shall we?”

He turned back to the crowd and lifted his arms to gain their attention.

“Inquisition! Templars!” He raised his voice to a roar, and soon the tumultuous gathering grew silent.

As one rustling, shifting body, they watched Cullen expectantly.

“This has hardly been a fair fight,” he called, nodding back toward Essa and eliciting a few shouts of agreement.

“The Herald of Andraste? Against the finest soldiers the Templar Order and the Inquisition have to offer?”

He heard Cassandra’s annoyed grunt behind him. Essa groaned. She just knew he was going to challenge her. Cullen kept his back to her, a smile stretching across his face.

“Shall we make it a true challenge?!” he shouted.

The crowd roared and Cullen knew he had them. He walked over the barrels that held the wooden practice blades, made a show of carefully selecting one.

“You’ll need a shield,” Cassandra said drily, disapproval set in lines around her eyes. “I will get you one.”

Cullen nodded and began removing the heaviest of his armor. Fair was fair after all. Essa was wearing the same practice gear as everyone else.  When he was down to his leathers, Cullen turned and strode purposefully to the center of the practice ring. He heard Essa sigh, waited for her to join him.

“You’re sure about this,” she almost asked, staring up through the late autumn sunlight to meet his eyes.

“I am,” he assured her. “You up for it?”

He waited for the sarcastic retort to coalesce, watched her lips begin to form the words.

“The Inquisitor and I,” he said loudly enough for the first few rows of spectators to hear him. “Will be taking all challengers.”  

 


	4. Magefire

Essa’s mouth stopped forming words and she stared at Cullen in disbelief. The mixed crowd of Inquisition and templar soldiers cheered with thunderous shouts at his announcement.  In the near distance, Essa could hear the Chargers begin some incoherent chant that she didn’t doubt extolled her battle prowess.

“We will _what_?” she asked Cullen as she recovered enough to form the question. “You cannot be serious.”

Cullen smiled down at her and Essa wanted to kick him. He was enjoying himself rather too much at her expense. Though she saw the logic in them fighting together rather than against each other, she sorely regretted that he wasn’t about to give her the opportunity to knock him on his arse.

“Is there a problem?” Cassandra called too cheerfully from the other side of the training ring’s rail.

Essa spun back toward her. “Aside from the worst idea our Commander has ever had?” she returned waspishly.

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Besides that.”

“Take fifteen!” Cullen shouted to those assembled. “If everyone is determined with this course, we’re going to do it right.”

There was general laughter from the crowd.  Essa heard the Chargers calling for kegs of ale.

“This is not the Grand Tourney,” she hissed to Cullen as they joined Cassandra.

“No, it isn’t.” His words were just gentle enough that she knew he realized a little of what that spectacle meant to her past.  “But you were on the right track with pitting the soldiers and the templars as a team against you. I want to show my support for that and for you. I am not likely to find such an opportunity again.”

Essa wanted to hide.

“It will be good for all of us to let off some tension,” Cullen said practically. “Colder weather is coming. A morale boost like this will carry us all to your return in the spring.”

She had known all of that of course. She had hardly gone into the ring just to prove mettle against the templars.

“You won’t get an argument on that,” Essa admitted carefully.

She paced in a slow, agitated circle.

“But, Commander,” she stressed the title slightly, as if it could knock sense into him where she couldn’t. “You and I have never fought together.  We’re as likely to get in one another’s way as make a formidable team. Humiliation is not generally good for morale.”

“I certainly doubt it will come to that,” Cullen shrugged.

Essa folded her arms across her chest and glared at him, all but daring him to say something else foolish.

“I could tell them it’s a training exercise,” he offered without a pinch of seriousness. “But it would ruin the festive air.”

Essa growled at him. The exasperated sound stood Cassandra proud.

“Neither of you are ignorant of group combat, my dear,” Vivienne spoke up to comfort Essa. “It will be little different than when you fight at our Lady Seeker’s side.”

“She is right,” Cassandra added. “Cullen and I share very similar fighting styles.”

Essa’s arms tightened across her chest and she renewed her furious glare.

“Two things you’re forgetting,” she pointed out in annoyance. “The first, I do not fight in such close proximity to you.”

She gestured at the practice ring.

“And second, I am fighting without magic. You want a fair pairing, take this staff and give me a damn shield.”

“Or,” Vivienne offered helpfully. “You could actually use your magic.”

Cullen and Essa turned as one to stare in disbelief at the enchanter.

“You are a mage, my dear,” Vivienne said lightly. “Or have you forgotten?”

The reproach was gentle, but Essa bristled. The fact that Vivienne spoke the truth only made things worse.

“You are right, Madame de Fer,” Cullen agreed evenly, surprising Essa. “Our Inquisitor is a mage. It does none of any good to forget that.”

She knew he included himself in his judgement. He probably included her as well. Essa sighed.

“A moment, please,” Cullen requested.

He turned back, took several steps toward the crowd. Essa watched him make eye contact with Ser Barris before gesturing the templar over.

Essa listened to them consult, heard Barris’s affirmatives, the low, respectful tone of his suggestions.

“I think ice, don’t you, Cassandra?” Vivinne’s query drew Essa’s attention back to the other women. “It’s not her strongest element, but a weak strike would be no more harmful than throwing a handful of snow.”

“Agreed,” said Cassandra. “We can count the point as fire, any such strike by the Inquisitor would do considerable damage.“

Essa gaped at both of them.

“You have all gone mad!” her voice rose at the end. “Mock combat is one thing, but this!”

She heard cheers and Bull’s cheerful bellowing. She could only assume that some kegs had been broken into.

“And I suppose you think it’s fine for our allies to use their skills against me?” she hissed more quietly. “Take a bunch of templars with mage resentment and turn them loose against the Inquisitor?”

“It sounds worse when you put it that way,” Ser Barris’s calm tone provided a counterpoint to Essa’s ire.

She turned from the rail as he and Cullen joined them.

“You think it won’t be exactly that?” she asked.

“You’ll wound some pride,” Barris said with a shrug. “If the commander is to be believed about your skill. But they’ll  get in a few hits, and have the comfort of knowing you aren’t invincible. We’ll pull our punches if you do.”

Essa scowled at him. “It’s not your punches I’m worried about.”

Barris smiled slightly. That much had been obvious since they first met.

Essa took a breath.

“We’ll need judges from all sides,” she said. “It has to be fair.”

Ser Barris nodded. “I will stand for us,” he said. “Once my time in the ring is done.”

“I’m fighting you first?” she asked on a groan.

Cullen answered. “We thought it best. The other templars will take their lead from Ser Barris.”

Essa jerked her chin at them both in temper. “This is way more complicated than what I was doing,” she pointed out. “I blame you for whatever comes out of this Commander.”

Cullen thought she was joking, but he couldn’t be sure.  They were gambling, but Essa had already been taking the same chance with her challenges.  Even if she hadn’t realized it.

“Alright,” Essa said in resignation. “Let’s do this ridiculous thing.”

She shrugged out of her jacket, handed the leather to Vivienne who took it without showing too much distaste. Essa pulled off her quilted silk undershirt, revealing a sleeveless linen tunic that would have been comfortable for no one else given the brisk mountain air. She snugged her gloves back into place.

“I’ll spread the word,” Barris said.

She watched him walk across the practice yard to the gathering of templars who waited for their own chance in the ring with the Inquisitor.

Essa listened as Cassandra checked Cullen’s gear—gear that she would always envy. He exchanged his sword for a wooden practice blade.

“I don’t chain cast,” she warned. Though none of them were certain as to whom she was warning.

Essa didn’t see Cullen’s face, but she heard Cassandra’s snort of laughter.

“This will be good for you, Commander,” Cassandra told him.

It was Cullen’s turn to grunt. Essa hid a smirk, feeling a little better for what she took as an admission of the commander’s disconcertion.

She walked out to the center of the ring. The sun was high and bright for all that it provided so little warmth. The thick dirt had been freshly leveled while she argued with the others. There were plans to fill the ring with sand, put up level rails instead of the haphazardly nailed together fence of scrap lumber. It would be a proper training yard soon; Cullen had assured her just that morning. For now, it served their purposes.

Cullen stepped up beside her.

“If you fight like Cassandra,” Essa murmured as their opponents sorted from the cheering crowd. “Then we’re going to have problems. She and I struggled in the beginning.”

“Have a little faith,” he admonished softly. “You trained with me for months before we came to Skyhold.”

“Dancing together is not the same as dancing with three other people in the same space,” Essa groused, but she was smiling by the time she finished.

“I’m not much for dancing,” he said.

Essa grinned. “Liar.”

“I beg your pardon?” He sounded so offended that Essa laughed. “There wasn’t much call in the Order for learning the Remigold.”

Essa chortled. “There are lots of ways of dancing,” she said, a sly smile breaking the tension around her eyes.

Ser Barris stepped into the ring, flanked by two Inquisition soldiers.  Behind them, the men and women of the Inquisition cheered, their shouts raised alongside templar voices. Essa called her magic, let it flare in bright tongues of flame at the upper end of her staff. There was a thunderous roar behind her. Essa glanced back to where Cassandra and Vivienne stood, saw them surrounded by the Chargers. The Iron Bull bellowed and the company lifted their voices in a raucous crescendo as Essa raised her wooden sword to the sky.

“I believe this dance is ours, Commander.” 


	5. Apostate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Essa's past presents some problems for the Inquisition. TW: blood, violence.

Cullen was not prepared for Essa’s fighting style. He had trained her as best he could in preparation for her path as a knight-enchanter, but since Commander Helaine joined them at Skyhold, he had not had the opportunity to see what she had learned. The first round, Cullen barely got in an attack. It became somewhat of a joke and he played to the crowd as Essa took out two of the soldiers before him with a scattering of ice. Three on one were not difficult enough odds. Essa took down a pair of Inquisition soldiers before either Cullen or Ser Barris moved from their positions. The crowd cheered, even the men she had put in the dirt were grinning at her at Cassandra called the points. After she took Ser Barris down, the templar and Cassandra conferred and doubled the number of opponents in the practice ring.

It still wasn’t a fair fight, but they were busy enough that it made for a decent show. Even with templar abilities enhancing the strength and defense of soldiers trained by Cullen himself, he and Essa took them apart too easily. He would have to talk to Delrin about some group training exercises. Corypheus had mages and the Inquisition and its allies needed to be better prepared for them.

A handful of rounds passed in a blink. Cullen blocked an overhand strike by one of his men, shoved the soldier back and reprimanded him for giving away the move before he'd made it. Essa spun by, caught the soldier behind the knees with her staff and took him to the ground. Cullen dodged back, certain the violent swing wouldn’t stop before it hit him. Essa pulled the staff back, tapping his borrowed shield lightly and tossing him a smirk as she darted off.

By Maker, she was unpredictable! Dangerous. There were three templars and two foot soldiers closing in on them, but Essa moved across the field before Cullen could even consider angling their backs to one another and collaborating on a strategy.

“You’ll learn to stay out of her way,” Cassandra called drolly from the rail.

The crowd shouted in glee and Cullen shook his head. He would never have expected Essa to be one for grandstanding, but she thrived in the arena. He had no doubt that she would have eventually taken the Grand Tourney had the Maker not held other plans.

“Five points, Ser Lagrande!” Barris called from beside Cassandra. “You’re off the field!”

Cullen sent another opponent sprawling, placed the tip of his practice sword at her throat.

“Off the field!” Cassandra called. “Combatants, break!”

Essa jogged back to him, her face split in a wide grin. She tucked her wooden sword beneath her arm  and reached up to deftly catch the water skin Cassandra tossed their way.

“Did Cassandra tell you stay out of my way?” she asked, mischief shining in her eyes.

Essa offered the water to him first, but Cullen shook his head. She rolled her eyes, muttered something about chivalry and pulled the cork out with her teeth. The stopper dangled from a long piece of leather, bumping into her chin as she lifted the mouth to her lips and tried to squeeze the water skin awkwardly with one hand. She didn’t seem to care that she got more on her than in her mouth.

“She did,” Cullen confirmed.

He leaned both sword and shield against the rail of the practice square and took the water skin from her.

“Open.” Cullen hid a grimace. The order sounded suspiciously like one given to a mabari or a child, but Essa opened her mouth obediently. He caught her exchanging a smirk with Cassandra as he lifted the water skin toward her face.

“Oh, for Andraste’s sake,” he grumbled, dropping his hands and moving the skin away. “Close your mouth, woman.”

He took her weapons from her tersely and handed her the water skin back. Essa just grinned at him. He had lost count of how many times she had smiled since he came out to the yard, he realized with relief. Essa was not one meant for solemnity. He worried that the role of Inquisitor would take too much from her.

She drank deeply, then took back her weapons, pressing the water skin into his hands.

“How are we doing?” she asked.

Though five rounds in, Cullen wasn’t certain how many more they would go. Neither he nor Essa seemed particularly winded, but they also hadn’t displayed any grand cooperation.

“You’re doing well, my dear,” Vivienne assured her from her spot beside Cassandra. “Though I had hoped for something a bit more dramatic.”

“Agreed,” Cassandra muttered.

“The crowd does not seem disappointed,” Cullen pointed out.

“They are getting a break from the usual tedium,” Cassandra retorted drily.  “They would be satisfied with you dancing the Remigold.”

Cullen snorted.

“Alright,” Essa said. “Up the difficulty. Let’s cause a spectacle. Final round. Have them choose their champions. Get the Iron Bull and the Chargers to send someone in. Me and Cullen against Ser Barris—“

The templar made a noise of surprise.

“I know you’ve been watching me,” Essa said with a laugh. “Making notes on my fighting style so that if you ever have to fight me again you’ll make a better showing.”

Delrin blushed, but Essa waved his discomfort away easily.

“May as well give you the chance,” she said, neither taking nor giving insult. “I hope no such occasion arises in the future.”

He smiled back at her. “In that we are agreed, Inquisitor.”

“Choose two other templars,” she said. “Someone you’re used to fighting with.”

“Three templars,” Cullen said carefully.

Essa nodded as Ser Barris departed for where the bulk of the Order was gathered.

“You want to fight three templars, the Iron Bull, and oh, why not a full squad of Inquisition soldiers?”

Essa sighed dramatically. “Just two or three,” she said. “You should be sweating when we win. And it would help if I got knocked down at least once.”

“The child has potential,” Vivienne said to Cassandra.

Cullen groaned.

*

The training yard was quiet, or as quiet as it could be with most of the keep packed around the make-shift rails of salvaged scrap lumber. The easy, jovial tone of the morning had turned to _work_. Essa had known what she was doing when she set herself and Cullen against the best their forces and allies had to offer. Still, she fought with a grin, eyes bright and steps surprisingly light.

“Out of the yard!” Cassandra called.  

Cullen sighed with relief as the man before him conceded what would have been a deadly blow. The templar quit the field and Cullen turned just in time to take dizzying strike on the face of his shield. He grunted at the impact, saw the Iron Bull’s smirk and brought his practice sword up, angling low on the qunari’s torso.

But not low enough. Bull deflected the blow with his own shield, sword tip grazing Cullen’s shoulder.

“Point!” Krem called from his end of the field.

The Charger’s roared and Cullen took the opportunity to bash Bull in the face with his shield.

“Getting tired, Cullen?” he asked cheerfully.

“You wish,” Cullen muttered.

Bull yelped.  “Bullshit, Boss!”

His exclamation was answered with a laugh. Cullen followed Bull’s glare across the field to Essa. She jerked her chin at both of them, lips curved in a cocky smile. She had managed an arc of ice that hit two of her opponents, frosting Bull’s backside in the process. Cullen laughed as Krem cheerfully called the point against his leader. Bull growled and renewed the fervor of his attacks. For several tense moments, Cullen scrambled to defend against his much larger opponent.

They were down to three, Cullen realized, catching a glimpse of Essa facing off against the remaining pair of templars. Ser Barris and a man that Cullen didn’t know very well. He thought the man’s name might be Josin. Essa seemed to be holding her own against them. It didn’t hurt that they had been trained to fight mages and Essa would never fight like a mage.

“You need to get over there,” Bull murmured, voice low as he slammed his sword down hard on Cullen’s shield.

The blow reverberated down his arms and into his shoulders. Maker’s breath the man was a beast. And blighted fast to boot. Cullen pulled his gaze from Essa to Iron Bull, made another mental note about future training exercises.

“What?” he asked.

The Bull’s attacks were getting weaker, and that didn’t seem right at all.

“There’s hate in the templar’s eyes,” Bull said conversationally, catching Cullen’s sword with his own and closing in against the tension so that he could continue speaking into Cullen’s ear. “We can rematch later if you still need to know which of us would win in fair combat, but right now, you need to get down there.”

Bull’s concern made Cullen wary. Essa had Barris and Josin on the far end of the training field. In a real battle, she would have been too far away for Cullen to reach.

“Iron Bull, off the field!”

Cullen glanced back sharply to see that the edge of his practice sword was pressed firmly against the Iron Bull’s neck. Bull grinned.

“I’m faster than I look. Now get your ass down there.”

Cullen didn’t find himself ordered around often anymore, but he could follow when the leadership was sound. He beat feet across the field. Essa dodged back from one of Delrin’s attacks, launched a smattering of ice that never reached her templar opponents. Magic charged the air as Essa danced back, feet carrying her across the dirt toward Cullen, guarded and watchful.

“You alright?” Cullen asked.

He was surprised to see that she looked harried. He had missed her take a couple of blows while he was fighting with Iron Bull. She had a bruise blossoming across one cheek; there was blood in her hair.

She frowned at him. “I’m fine,” she said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Barris and Josin flanked them, their movements smooth and graceful, speaking of years of fighting together. Essa adjusted her grip on her practice sword, swung a slow arc with her staff so that Cullen could mark the range of motion.

“You’re bleeding,” he pointed out calmly. “Are you ready to wrap this up? I don’t know about you, but I could do with less sweating and a little revelry.”

Essa grinned.  “As my commander orders.”

Cullen was spared reply as Delrin closed in.  Essa’s shoulders bumped his back once as she pushed away from him and then there was nothing but the rush of noise and the rapid attack, defend, counter as Cullen pitted brawn and strategy against someone who had trained in the same Order he had.

Delrin knew what he was about, though he pulled his punches just as he had promised Essa he would. Cullen did the same, but sparring was always more difficult that fighting. He kept careful score as they fought, tuning out the shouts from the sidelines. He and Delrin stayed even, trading point for careful point. Every now and then Cullen would catch a glimpse of Essa, hear the particular resounding crack of her staff as it struck the metal of Josin’s shield. She was back to fighting without magic, the templar’s abilities canceling out her spells, but she didn’t seem to mind and the crowd was in an uproar as their mage Inquisitor matched her strength and agility against the other warrior.

Suddenly, there was a gasp from the crowd, and Cullen and Delrin both turned to watch Essa reel back, stunned. Cullen knew it wasn’t the first time she had been hit with smite, but the attack was particularly brutal given that she hadn’t used any of her mana reserves. She kept her feet on brute strength alone and not for long. Josin pressed his advantage immediately, knocking her to the ground. She hit hard, sword tumbling away. Cullen heard Cassandra call the point, but the templar didn’t let up. He followed Essa down, pinning her beneath the weight of himself and his armor.

Essa’s eyes were wide and furious as she came back to herself. Cullen and Delrin were already on the way to her, but the blue temper in her gaze drove them both to a halt. She had one foot on Josin’s hip, her staff was raised between them as a shield, and she shoved at him, holding him off of her chest with sheer belligerence.

“You have a problem with me, templar?” Essa gritted from between her teeth.

Cullen knew she wouldn’t get an answer. He saw then the hate that Bull had warned him about. Josin had dropped his shield somewhere in the fray. The man had one hand in the middle of Essa’s staff, slowly pressing it toward her throat.

“Murderer.” He spat the word at her.

The spittle turned to steam when it struck Essa’s face. Her eyes flashed, sparks of blue across the grey. Cullen took another step toward her before he paused, uncertain as to how he should proceed. He had never seen her lose her temper, but Cassandra had regaled him with enough stories. The last thing they needed was a column of flame in the middle of the practice yard.

He was startled when, a breath later, she reined her anger in. He watched her eyes cool.

“UGH! You, PEOPLE!” Essa yelled.

Josin looked as shocked by the outburst as the rest of them. Essa managed to get both feet between them. She kicked him—HARD—and when the templar skidded down her legs, she lifted one foot and kicked him soundly in the face. His nose broke in a spray of blood that spattered over them both, ruining Josin's focus as Essa clambered to her feet. If he considered smiting her again, he never got the chance.  Essa cracked him across side of the head with the heaviest end of her staff. While he was still reeling, she kicked him to the ground and placed the sharp point against his throat.

It was, as far as spectacles went, rather dramatic. The spectators found nothing amiss. They cheered and screamed with abandon.

“If you had a problem with me, templar, you should have gone to your superior,” Essa said softly enough that Cullen could barely make out her words beneath the noise.

“Apostate. Murderer,” Josep replied, voice filled with hate. “I know what you are.”

“No,” Essa shook her head. “But I know what you are.”

She lifted her face then, but not her staff.

“Ser Barris,” she called loudly and with such lightness of tone, that had he not witnessed it himself, Cullen would never guess that someone had just tried to kill her. “I believe Ser Josin got carried away in the heat of battle. Perhaps this would be a grand time for us all to quit the field and have some ale!”

The crowd—templars, Chargers, soldiers alike—shouted and applauded until it felt like thunder rumbling off of Skyhold’s walls. Josin stared up at Essa, anger and bitter resentment boiling in his gaze.

“I believe you are correct, Inquisitor,” Delrin called back loudly. “I’ll buy your first round in the tavern.”

There was laughter from those close enough to hear.

“I’ll hold you to that, Ser Barris.”

No one else seemed to notice the subtle pressure she had to apply to Josin’s throat, nor how the man reached slowly for the knife at his belt, but Cullen didn’t miss it.

“I wouldn’t,” Essa's voice was soft with menace. Josin stilled.

“I’m sorry,” Delrin said to Cullen as he strode quickly past him. “It was the only way to know for sure.”

Cullen’s frown turned to a scowl. “You suspected.”

Delrin nodded. “And there are others. We will speak soon. And don’t worry, Commander. I will find them before the Inquisitor returns in the spring.”

Cullen said nothing; he was too angry to trust his voice. Essa stepped away and Delrin helped Josin from the ground, disarming him with a deftness of fingers that would have impressed Sera. Bull caught Cullen’s eye as the pair of templars quit the field. Cullen nodded and the Chargers fell in behind Delrin. He made his way to Essa’s side and she spun toward him, still on edge, still on the defensive.

“It’s just me,” he said quietly.

Essa nodded slowly, but she kept several steps between them.

“Lady Seeker!” she shouted. “What was the final score?”

“One hundred thirty-six to one hundred twelve,”  Cassandra called back. “In favor of you and the Commander.”

Essa nodded. “Good plan,” she said to Cullen without a drop of sarcasm.

“It nearly got you killed,” he replied shortly.

She shrugged. “But it didn’t, and now we know there’s some serious dissension in the ranks.”

She clapped him on the arm as she headed toward Cassandra and Vivienne.

“It was a good day,” she said cheerfully.


	6. Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter I know, but it's worth it! So much happens!

It had taken Cullen most of the evening to get everything and everyone almost back to normal around Skyhold. Ser Barris helped; there was a great deal to do in ferreting out Essa’s enemies and he and Cullen were determined to do so sooner rather than later. Still, the tavern remained full, and Essa the center of attention. She had lost count of the times she had been toasted. Even drinking only a swallow from each glass given to her, Essa was the drunkest she had ever been. She didn’t think it was so bad. Not at present anyway. She was at a long table, surrounded by the Chargers, and tucked into a corner with Fin between her and the rest of the tavern.

“Cullen!”

She saw him enter the main room, a serious expression on his face. He was still working, she thought. He was always working. The casual clothes were a lie.

But by the Bride, they looked good on him. Tan breeches, loose white tunic. He hadn’t tied the blighted thing properly, she noticed. Essa stared at his collarbones as Cullen made his way through the crowd. He was a big man, used to taking up even more space in his armor. He gave the revelers a wider berth than they needed. She bet he could get her out of here without bumping her into things. Concern with her own destructiveness was what had Essa currently occupying the bench between Fin and the tavern wall. She had knocked three people over already, broken four tankards, and two chairs. And the poor people of Skyhold had still felt the need to apologize to _her_ for the inconvenience.

It was safer for everyone if she just stayed here.

“Inquisitor,” Cullen greeted her with perfect professionalism. “You’re looking…surprisingly…celebratory tonight.”

“I’m drunk, Cullen,” Essa announced, leaning merrily against Fin’s steady shoulder. “Do. Not. Berate. Me.”

She stared blearily up at him, pretending it was the alcohol that made him so pretty.

“I had hoped to speak with you,” he said patiently.

“Sit,” she said, gesturing to the empty spot beside Fin. “Or get. Staring up at you is hurting my neck.”

“Have a seat, Cullen,” the Iron Bull added from across the large table. “It’s an experience you shouldn’t miss.”

Essa glared at Bull, then blew him a kiss. “You should be glad that I love you.”

“You love everyone tonight, your worship,” Krem offered. “That’s why we have you tucked safely into the corner.”

Cullen glanced from Essa to Krem and back again concern evident on his face.

“Not like that,” Essa sighed. “ _Honestly_ , Commander.”

Essa leaned across Fin’s lap, body pressed comfortably against his broad chest. Somehow it seemed right that the child she had known and loved had grown into such a stalwart man. Solid, she thought, as Fin wrapped his arms around her waist to keep her from wobbling.

“Thank you,” she mumbled to Fin.

Fin nodded, chin bumping the back of her shoulder. Essa reached out and patted Cullen’s cheek, fingers curling against evening shadow.

“You worry too much,” she told him apologetically. “I make that worse, but someone else might be worse than me.”

“There are a lot worse than you, Mirabelle,” Varric assured her without looking up from his parchment.

“Mirabelle?” Cullen asked.

“Don’t ask,” Essa groused. “He won’t tell me.”

"Much worse," Varric added.

Cullen placed his hand over hers. He meant to draw her away, but Essa was too close, and for a moment he was trapped as she stared into his eyes.

“Thank you, master wordsmith,” Essa somehow remembered to answer Varric. “You know two-leggeds, so I believe you.”

Her palm lay warm and careful between Cullen’s hand and his cheek.  She could feel the muscles in his jaw tighten and flex. Through the foggy lens of her own life she saw the unasked for touch as the wound it could deal.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, eyes wide and searching.

Andraste’s mabari! What was she doing? Essa pulled her hand away, stared down at it as if it had betrayed her. Cullen didn’t speak and she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She had overstepped—again—and almost as punishment she could still feel the cool press of Cullen’s skin beneath the soft-rough bristle.

“Fin?” she called, leaning up to tilt her head back against his shoulder.

“Yes, Es?”

She stared across the odd angle into his eyes. He loved her, she thought. Without restraint, without resentment, without fear. Fin loved her.

“I love you.”

Fin dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I love you.”

“And,” Essa continued sagely. “I can. NEVER. Get drunk again.”

She glared across the table at Bull. “I need to be sober.”

Bull nodded, eyes dark with understanding.

“Now,” Essa added.

“Cullen,” Bull said conversationally. “Be a good man and take our Inquisitor to the nearest cold trough and give her a dunk.”

Essa’s eyes brightened with shock. “You traitor.”

“You’ll thank me later, Boss.”

Essa’s loud protests were met with humor from the rest of her friends, Fin practically bundling her up and shoving her into Cullen’s arms.

“Her feet don’t work,” Fin said helpfully. “You’ll have to carry her.”

Cullen nodded and rose to his feet, lifting her as if she wasn’t the protesting sack of hard bones and heavy muscle Essa knew herself to be.

“I am not happy with you, Qunari!” Essa railed over Cullen’s shoulder.

“You need to tell him, Boss.”

“I could hurt him,” Essa hissed quietly.

No one at the table seemed surprised by the admission. Cullen’s shoulders stiffened.

“Go on, Curly,” Varric shooed them off. “Coldest trough you can find. A little ice won’t kill her.”

“What if she screams?’ Cullen asked, and it took Essa a beat to realize he was teasing her along with the rest of them.

“Then she’ll get a mouth full of water,” Fin said. “And maybe she’ll learn the difference between times to keep it shut, and times to open it.”

Essa flailed back toward Fin, managing to pop him on top of the head with the ends of her fingers. Cullen shifted her until she was hanging over one of his shoulders as he made an unwavering path for the door.

“This is highly indecorous,” Essa complained, lifting herself up so that she wasn’t flopped over with her face near his arse.

“It is,” Cullen agreed. “I can’t quite imagine how I ended up in this situation.”

“I’m telling Josie,” she retorted. “I’m sure she has a book on the proper way to treat a lady.”

Coming from anyone else, the comment might have rankled, but Cullen laughed as he stepped past a boisterous table of the Inquisitor’s well-wishers.

“Josie is no doubt waiting on us,” Cullen told her. “And if you’ve noble blood in those veins, Trevelyan, it can only be from a fine mabari pedigree.”

Essa punched him in the back. The blow lacked any impact whatsoever, her fist bouncing harmlessly off of hard muscle.

“Mind your head,” Cullen said mildly, stepping out into the cold night with no more warning than that.

Essa ducked down rather than crack her skull on the door lintel.

“This is no good,” she said morosely as he strode quickly through the courtyard. “Commander, please put me down.”

Cullen shifted her around until he was carrying her with more dignity, one arm behind her back, one beneath her knees.

“Fin said your feet aren’t working,” he reminded her gently.

“They aren’t,” Essa admitted on a sigh. “But I can still crawl.”

Her assertion was not meant as an insult. The crisp night air was chasing some of the fumes from her mind. Essa was clear enough headed to see the hurt in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“For what?”

But she couldn’t answer him.

Cullen carried her through the keep with unhurried, measured steps.

“Are you really going to dunk me in a trough?” Essa asked.

“Are you still feeling the inclination to tell everyone you know that you love them?”

Essa stared into his eyes for too long.

“Dunk me,” she said, resolutely.

Cullen smiled. “As you wish.”

She was given no warning. She thought she had time to prepare, but the keep had passed around her too quickly in her addled state. She had been too busy fighting the impulse to play in Cullen’s hair to notice him descending the stairs, or crossing the yard toward the stable. He dropped her without ceremony, and Cullen had judged her rightly for being a screamer. Essa’s shriek was cut off abruptly by a mouthful of cold water, but not before it startled the horses and called Blackwall from his haven.

She came up sputtering, found Cullen and Blackwall standing shoulder to shoulder, arms crossed over their chests, equally amused expressions on their faces.

“Back under, my lady,” Blackwall said shrewdly. “I can’t imagine once did the trick.”

Essa scowled at them both and flopped back into the icy water with a splash. She sank to the bottom. Her hair floated around her face, clothes drifting away from her body as she let the water leech her extra body heat away. She should have thought of that particular consequence before she started toasting with everyone after the spectacle. She ran too hot as it was. Alcohol made it worse. So did a number of other things…people... person.

Essa sighed. The bubbles of her exhale floated past her toward the surface, but she wasn’t ready to follow them. When a hand closed around her bicep and tugged, she came up quickly, and was startled to find Cullen staring down at her, eyes narrowed in worry. He looked like he might give her a shake, and she could sense the reprimand on his tongue. Essa could only pray he wouldn’t say what he was thinking.

“You tryin’ to drown on us, lass?” Blackwall asked, stopping Cullen from uttering whatever he had been about to say.

“Hardly,” Essa said, pulling her arm from Cullen’s grasp and climbing to her feet.

The cold air hit her hard. Hard enough to be useful. Essa whistled, three soft notes to calm the horses and let them know she was fine. If a bit cold.

“ _Vashedan,_ ” she muttered furiously, her accent would have stood Bull proud.

“Swearin in Qunlat now?” Blackwall asked.

Essa grinned.

“The Chargers have been teaching me.” She puffed out a breath. “Andraste’s knickers, it’s cold.”

She stepped out of the trough carefully, planted her feet on solid ground and waited for a moment to see how steady her legs were. Cullen stood too close. Essa’s mind was clear enough that she was already regretting the steps that had brought her from Herald’s Rest to the cold trough.

“You said Josie was waiting?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Cullen nodded. “In your quarters.”

She called a goodnight to Blackwall, made the warden flush when she impulsively hugged him and dropped a kiss on his cheek.

“I was in my cups tonight,” she said. “Told everyone I love that I loved them, seems wrong to leave you out just because you were on the other side of sober.”

He grunted at her. “You’re too free with your heart, my lady.”

There was concern in his gruff reply, not censure.

Essa smiled at him. “What is the point in having a heart full of love if you’re too afraid to give it away?”

Both Blackwall and Cullen stared at her for too long.

“Ignore me,” Essa said waving her hands at them. “I’ll go back to keeping my own counsel tomorrow. Never fear.”

Her skin was already climbing back to warm. She plucked at her clinging shirts and nudged Cullen in the ribs with her elbow.

“You get to explain to Josie why I look like a drowned rat,” she told him.

Blackwall laughed as they headed for the keep.

*

Josie was indeed waiting on them in Essa’s quarters. The ambassador had had a table brought up, one long enough to hold dinner for six. It stretched before the fireplace as if hosting an intimate dinner among friends. Josephine, Leliana, Cassandra, and Ser Barris were already seated. As Essa and Cullen reached the top of the stairs she could hear casual chatter and smell most of her known favorite foods.  Essa immediately balked.

“What’s going on?”

Ser Barris rose as she and Cullen approached the end of the table.

“You were nearly killed today by one of my men,” Ser Barris said, taking the lead before anyone else could attempt to placate Essa with a less direct answer.

“I wouldn't go quite that far,” Essa said stonily. “But I was hardly planning on worrying about that tonight.”

She glared at Cullen. She hadn’t realized that he had come to the tavern to take her to an ambush. She stepped away from the table and marched to her dressing room.

“It is a matter that needs addressing,” Josie said, hurrying to her feet to follow after Essa.

She stood in the doorway as Essa dug through a trunk for something to wear. Her options were not encouraging; she tried to remember where she had left her pack and failed. She would need to remedy that soon.

“But tonight, Josie?” Essa demanded in annoyance.

“You do still plan to leave tomorrow?” Josie asked practically.

Essa never lifted her head from the trunk.  “Or the day after,” she said with a nod.

It might take her that long to find her blighted gear. She was never drinking again.

“I will be gone all winter,” Essa said, emerging from her search with a long brown linen robe.

Josie frowned at the garment in distaste. Essa shook it out, was pleasantly surprised to find it neither dusty nor full of moth holes. She shucked her wet clothes and pulled the robe on over her head. Essa grinned impishly at Josie as she ran her hands through her wet hair, untangling clumps and scattering water droplets.

“You must never let the any of the nobles see you in that,” Josie said, eyes wide with horror that Essa did not think was wholly feigned.

Essa hung her clothes up to dry. “I will be gone all winter,” she said again, pushing gently past Josie and walking back toward the group. “I would think that in the time I am gone, Ser Barris and Commander Cullen would be able to find any of Ser Josin’s compatriots and neutralize any possible threats within Skyhold before my return.”

“Oh, good,” Cassandra said looking up from her tea. “You found it.”

Essa’s very reasonable assessment was ignored as Josie rounded on Cassandra. “ _You_ are responsible for this monstrosity?”

Josie pointed imperiously at Essa.

“The robe, yes,” Cassandra retorted drily. “The Herald, no.”

Essa snickered. “Thank you, Cassandra, it is nicely done.”

The robe was unadorned linen, as plain and brown as Essa’s hair. It had no sleeves and scooped neck. The only shape to it was from the darts and seams that nipped it in at breast and waist before falling in a soft drape to the tops of Essa’s bare feet. She was prepared to love it forever.

Josie sighed as she returned to her seat; Leliana reached to pat her hand in commiseration. Before anyone else could start a conversation she wasn’t ready to have, Essa turned to Cullen.

“You said you wanted to speak to me,” she said boldly. “Was that just a ruse to get me here among the pack?”

Cullen blinked at her, barely stopping his hand from reaching for the bridge of his nose. “It was no ruse,” he said shortly.

She was adding to his headache. It would be worse before the night was done. Essa nodded sharply, walked back to the bed and yanked two pillows and the blanket off of it.

“I was drunk,” she said to her advisors as she headed for a pair of balcony doors. “Not a half hour ago. The least you can do is let me eat. Commander, if you would be so kind as to bring some food out with you. We’ll go ahead and get this out of the way.”

There were arguments as she passed outside, and no doubt she had annoyed Cullen with her abruptness. Maker, it seemed Essa was always causing some sort of stir. Especially when she thought she was being reasonable.

“She was,” she heard Cullen tell them. “I’m still impressed she’s walking.”

That at least seemed to decide it for the others. Essa walked down to the far end of the balcony. During the day, the view was of mountains and water; at night, there was just the weight of darkness and the bright silvering of moonlight on the snow. She dropped the pillows to the frosted stones at her feet and stood staring up at the stars until Cullen joined her.

“You keep them guessing,” he said closing the door behind him with his foot.

He held two bowls of stew, a round of bread balanced on one and what she hoped was a water skin tucked under one arm. Essa joined him, relieving him of what burdens she could.

“They know the important things,” Essa replied. She sat on one of the pillows and gestured at the other. “Don’t they?”

“Yes.” Cullen sat, passing her a bowl of stew and a large chunk of bread. “Bread first.”

Essa nodded, held the blanket out to him as he settled beside her.

“I’ve never over-indulged like I did tonight,” she admitted.

“I may have guessed.”

Cullen wrapped the blanket around both their backs and they sat, shoulder to shoulder leaning against the wall of the fortress. They ate in silent economy, neither one to linger over a meal when there were matters that needed attending.

“Do you want to go first?” Essa asked, placing her bowl to the side as she finished.

“Whatever you prefer,” he replied politely.

“If you please.”

“Josin knew your brother,” he began, words chosen with a care for directness, not to spare Essa any pain.

Essa nodded, answering what he had not asked. She was not shocked to find that Josin had known Mathieu; they were of an age, and she did not remember the templar from Ostwick.

Cullen took a breath. “It doesn’t matter to me,” he declared softly. “But I feel that I must have the answer from you.”

“Is it the Inquisition or Cullen Rutherford asking if I murdered my brother?”

He closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the wall with a sigh and pulling the blanket taut between them.

“Cullen Rutherford.”

Essa chuckled, but there was no humor in the sound. “It’s fitting, I suppose.”

She pulled her legs up beneath her robe, wrapped her arms around her knees.  Her elbow bumped softly against his side and she realized how close they were sitting to one another. That easy proximity would fade soon enough.

“You may as well discover all of my sins tonight,” Essa said.

She reached for the skin, was relieved to find it filled with water. Cullen waited as she drank. Essa corked the water skin and passed it to him.

“Yes,” she said, as his fingertips brushed hers and slid away.  “I killed Knight-Captain Mathieu Trevelyan.”

It was her first confession and even as it left her lips, Essa was shocked by her heart’s daring.  She couldn’t take the words back, and there was a heady, terrifying moment when she felt utterly free. The weight she carried for ten years had been heavier than she realized.

“In defense,” Cullen decided.

“Perhaps,” Essa shrugged. “In fear and anger for certain. It was calculated on my part. I killed him with his own dagger.”

He stiffened beside her. “So that part was true.”

“Yes.” Essa’s breath shuddered out of her and her chest felt open, exposed.  “I suppose I may as well tell you everything.”

She paused, fidgeted with the edge of the blanket. “That night created my demons and Bull is right. I have to warn you about those.”

She felt his gaze like a brand. Kindness crinkled the corners of eyes gone dark and gleaming in the shadows. His unexpected compassion was sharper than any judgment.

“I was made mage on my wedding night,” Essa began stoically. She had rehearsed the confession often enough for all that she had never given it to anyone. “The first time we joined was such a rush of youthful impatience that there wasn’t time for my magic to find me. The second time, my husband built a fire within me that consumed him.”

It was nothing Cullen didn’t know. He had read her file and those facts had been listed in cold black ink on faded parchment the day she joined the Circle.

“He died screaming while the forest and I burned. My brother was the first templar to recognize that the sudden blaze could only be magefire. He reached our camp first and silenced the flames, but there was no pity in him as he named me mage and cursed my life.”

Cullen was silent; his shoulder may as well have been stone where it pressed against hers. Essa snuck a glance at his profile. His face was unreadable, eyes suddenly more light than shadow. She wondered if he saw himself in the man she had murdered.

“He threatened me with no more or less than other templars have promised other mages, for more years than I want to count. But I will not be caged. I knew when he reached for his abilities, but I was not born a mage and our father had made me a warrior first. I took his voice before he could bind me with it.”

She was trembling, but not with cold. Cullen wrapped the blanket more tightly around them anyway, moving close to share warmth. Essa didn’t recognize either of them as they sat together waiting for her past to rip them apart.

“I faced two demons at my Harrowing,” she said abruptly, charging into the rest of the story before her courage failed her. “I'm told that most face only one, but it seems the Fade has always found me worthy of extra attention.”

He squeezed her shoulder gently and Essa leapt to her feet, stumbling in the tangle of skirt and blanket. He steadied her with one hand, then let her go. She paced furiously down the length of the balcony and back, trapped in a cage she had chosen for herself.

“They came to me from the darkest parts of my soul,” she made herself look at him. Forced herself to watch his face as she revealed herself for what she was. “Stood before me as my greatest sins yet committed.”

Cullen held her stare, and she watched his clever mind working, saw him choose and discard which demons she must have faced.

“Do you know what they were?” Essa whispered.

“Rage,” he offered gently.

She nodded. Point for him. He wouldn’t guess the other.

“And Desire,” Essa said.

He was on his feet then, long strides carrying him away from her treachery.  She knew the need to escape. She saw the bars around him as clearly as her own. Cullen paused before the door, hand shaking as he reached for the knob.

“Why would you tell me this?” His voice was harsh with disbelief.

And disgust.

“Because I love you, and Bull is right. That’s not the kind of thing you keep from someone you care about.”

The words may as well have been spoken by her demons. His eyes were hard. He met her gaze for one fleeting heartbeat.

“Maker’s breath, woman,” he said shaking his head. “You keep us all guessing don’t you?”

Essa was unsurprised when Cullen left her. The door opened and then shut behind him quietly. She leaned against the balcony rail, listening the songs of Skyhold, and watched as darkness and moonlight moved over the jagged faces of mountain.

 

 


	7. Epilogue: Rage and Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> whoops...an epilogue? WHAT? This was posted as two parts on tumblr, but as it was originally written as one piece, it is posted that way here.

He needed quiet and prayer, long hours to himself to get a handle on the feelings of betrayal that twisted through his mind. The whispers were closer than they had been in years. Nightmares that promised a thousand pleasures before his destruction. Was that what she waited to become? He watched her and he wondered, his doubt accusing her with insults his heart would never have tolerated from another. The Herald of Andraste. For months he had believed.  Despite her every refutation, despite the persistence of her version of humanity. Despite feelings neither of them could entertain nor afford. Despite every truth she had tried to give him.

But Essa had finally toppled the pedestal she had not wanted, and now it lay broken amid the ashes of both their pasts.

“It is a fine plan,” said Cassandra.

“I agree,” Cullen nodded. “We will have this cleared up before the Inquisitor returns.”

Cullen had become adept at performing his duties while most of his mind was on other things. There were more times than he wanted to admit when his body ached and his mind offered only temptation and betrayal, when he was too distracted by the worst of the pain to give anyone his full attention. Tonight’s distraction was a different sort, but Essa’s confession occupied his mind with the same relentlessness.

“You’ll stay in touch,” he heard Leliana’s entreaty and nearly smiled. They all behaved as though Essa weren’t capable of caring for herself for the dozen or so weeks before the paths back into the mountains were passable.

“I will,” Essa assured her patiently. “There is so much for me left to do in Ferelden.  The camps will send back word. Your birds will be busy, Madame Spymaster.”

Leliana's smile was slight. “They will also be well fed,” she agreed pleasantly. “Several of the scouts have taken to spoiling them terribly.”

She didn’t sound nearly as put out about it as she once had.

Essa grinned. “I’m guilty of that myself, but your missives do arrive more speedily than before.”

There was comfortable laughter, and a precious camaraderie that had developed through hardship only to be forged all the stronger by Essa’s care for all of them. She didn’t know what she was to them, even to Delrin, who had nearly as many prejudices as Cullen. She cared for each of them as she did the horses in Dennet’s stable, and was by turns compromising and unyielding. She nurtured them as if they were all wild creatures, rough and unsure of their edges, but somehow Essa was making them all into a team.

She sat across the table, eyes never quite landing upon him as she spoke with the others. Cullen forced himself to listen to the long discussion, contributed appropriately, made plans with Leliana and Delrin regarding Josin and the other dissenters. Cullen kept his game face firmly in place. Just because he detested subterfuge didn’t mean he was incapable of it. A complete lack of guile would make a poor general.

Essa, on the other hand, did not possess a peck of deception. Her leadership was strong simply because no one believed how straightforward she actually was. Her silence was constantly misinterpreted by those whose natures tended toward devious machination. She would excel at Orlais’s Grand Game simply because no one would dare assume she wasn’t playing with incredible finesse.

And yet for all her lack of subtlety, Cullen found he could not read her.

She had been almost cooperative once she came in from the balcony, carefully balancing the empty dishes that he had left behind in his shock. The meeting ran late into the night—too late considering that she was departing for Ferelden the next morning—but Essa didn’t complain or try to rush anyone along. She would be free of them soon enough, she teased when Cassandra commented on her uncharacteristic indulgence of them. There had been relief behind her playful smile, and when everyone finally began dispersing Essa had surprised them all by remaining behind.

“You’re sleeping here?” Josie repeated.

She paused with almost comical shock, one foot hanging over the next step down.

Essa laughed. “I will be sleeping on the balcony, Josie, if that makes you feel any better.”

Josie made a show of straightening the always-perfectly-in-place ruffles at her wrists. “It does,” she affirmed. “But I will not say so again.”

There was genuine warmth in the ambassador’s eyes, however.  The flint of Essa’s gaze softened for a moment.

“I know that it’s been a difficult handful of weeks,” she said, taking a breath and addressing them as one body. “I want to thank all of you for your hard work. I am sorry for this mess with Ser Josin, and I hope it can be resolved easily, but you must know that if you need me to step down as Inquisitor, I will.”

She did not glance away from the shock on their faces; her own betrayed none of her feelings.

“And if that is necessary, and I am still around after we defeat Corypheus, I can only hope that the inquisition might still have a use for me. I have found…a purpose that suits me, here with you.” She gave a little shrug. “And I do have a rather interesting skill set.”

They were all too astonished to reply, even to her gently humorous closing. They all tried to speak at once, to assure her that they would never want her to leave, but Cullen and Essa knew that they could not make such pledges. That she could engender the desire in each of them to give her those guarantees was just another reason why they shouldn’t. There was something too compelling in the woman who stood earnestly before them in a drab brown linen robe and a pair of fingerless leather gloves.  Cullen was slowly learning what a threat Essa’s sincerity could be.

He watched her wave them away before they could offer replies that would be less honest than she. Cullen hung back. He wasn’t certain what he wanted to say or what words he wanted from her; he knew only that he needed answers and that Essa was keeper of them.

She didn’t let him speak. Essa shook her head for silence the moment Cullen opened his mouth.

“Anything you say will be untrue,” she stated with infuriating calm. “Whether you realize it or not.”

She waited for the others to get a little farther down the stairs. “You want to apologize for walking away from me, but you should have.”

He started to argue and she simply stared at him until he stopped speaking.

“Cullen, I just told you that I am one of your worst nightmares waiting to happen. If I were to ever be corrupted you would be lucky to face rage behind my eyes, but it is much more likely that it would be desire. Lust.”

The last word was harsh; Essa nodded slightly when Cullen flinched.

“You understood what that meant the moment I told you, but since then you’ve tried to tell yourself you over-reacted.”

She took a step toward him, then seemed to catch herself and took two careful steps back. At the bottom of the stairs, the door heavy door closed behind the others, and the last remnants of night grew smaller in their solitude.

“You didn’t,” she told him.

Cullen dragged one hand roughly through his hair, leaving it hopelessly disheveled in his growing agitation. Who was she? He wanted to shout. To absolve him of slights against her when at best he should be asking only for forgiveness. At worst he should be demanding hers.

“Lust,” he repeated harshly.

He shook his head, claimed her gaze, knowing she would see the resentment and confusion in his.

“What does that even mean, Essa?” Cullen finally demanded.

Her name sounded like that of a stranger; his voice no longer his own.

“That you like sex? I hardly expected you to be celibate. Even in the towers such activities are not as strictly controlled as the Chantry would have us believe.”

 _Such activities._ Cullen heard too much of his former self in his haughty confrontation. Too many prejudices. But he had already flung the words at her. He could not call them back.

“‘Like’ is not the best word you could have chosen, but yes, I have been celibate,” she said, shrugging away words that should have wounded, as if his every reaction were of no consequence. “And I am. It isn’t the best recourse. I think desensitization would be smarter. A life lived with moderate consumption. Bull disagrees, but he doesn’t understand that I burn too hot, or that despite too many cravings and too many dreams, I have not wanted anyone else’s hands on me until you.”

Who says that to someone? Cullen thought, thoughts reeling in the face of such brazen honesty. He could feel the blush creep up his neck and over his face. And yet, Essa spoke with no more emotion than one would comment upon the weather. It was within him to censure her, and if she were the type to be so cowed, he would have gladly explained to her the finer points of propriety.  

He knew she would only laugh.

“Andraste’s mabari, Cullen,” Essa sighed and paced away from him. “I would have thought that you of all people would appreciate my forthrightness.”

She paused at the table and picked up her tea cup, tossing back the long cold remnants with a grimace.

“It isn’t as if I’m propositioning you, or have any intention of seducing you.”

She glared at the teapot before picking it up and refilling her cup.

“In fact, Commander, if I ever do, you can rest assured that I’ve succumbed to my demons,” she continued with a hint of venom. “And just go ahead and kill the thing attempting to take your virtue.”

He cleared his throat, temper finally simmering into something that could not be contained.

“My virtue has not been a matter of concern for quite some time, Inquisitor,” Cullen countered heatedly. “I am more concerned that you might be compromised by your own admitted temptations before—“

“If you finish that sentence,” Essa interrupted in a low deadly voice.  “I am going to punch you in the throat.”

She marched toward him, fury blazing in her eyes. How her every step did not leave behind a smoldering patch of carpet, Cullen didn’t know. He had never seen her so angry.

“I have two perfectly good hands and a _very_ active imagination,” she informed him with bitter ease that destroyed his concentration.  “And I have been managing my temptations for a lot longer than some.”

She held her hands in tight fists, hanging onto her temper with white knuckles. Cullen closed his eyes, absurdly distracted by her admission.

“I have taken you at your word,” Essa persisted brutally. “Not once doubted your assessment of your own endurance, but you cannot extend me that same trust?!”

“Trust is—“

“Trust is not a luxury!” Essa shouted, silencing him with her passion. “Trust is crucial. It is the most basic necessity.  I told you about my demons because I do not keep secrets from my friends, and because of all of them, _you_  needed to know. I did not tell you my demons so that you could be my own personal templar!”

She turned to walk away, and before Cullen could check the mistake for what it was, he reached out to catch her arm.

*

Cullen was fast. He knew he moved more quickly than most his size. It was advantageous during combat, constantly being underestimated by his enemies. Most of the time, he moved with deliberate lassitude so as not to startle the other warrior types around him. He had made the mistake often enough in his youth and he had learned from it. He walked with louder steps than he needed and moved slowly, telegraphing his moves as often as possible, letting his armor clank more than he liked.  

His reflexes told on him though, and it was rare that someone got the drop on him, rarer still that they crowded so far into his space before he could stop them. Had he reached for anyone else and realized his mistake, Cullen would likely have drawn back before they reacted, but not Essa. She moved like a falcon diving. She spun into his space, knocked him back against the wall, and plucked his dagger from his belt before he could release his gentle grip on her arm.  The knife’s edge pressed against his throat for half a breath; Cullen tapped lightly at her side with the tip of his second knife.

“I didn’t see that one on you,” Essa admitted, lifting her borrowed blade enough that it wouldn’t cut him when he spoke.

“Inside back of the belt,” he replied tersely. “It lies horizontally. Base of the spine. Low profile.”

She looked momentarily impressed. If they forgave each other for wounds dealt tonight, he would have to get her one.

“Fancy yourself a rogue now?” the query was sharp.

“I could ask you the same,” Cullen rejoined. “You put my own knife to my throat easily enough.”

“I worked with a chevalier once who had some roguish tendencies. He taught me what he knew. Ostwick honed more than one unsavory skill.”

A chevalier, he thought. Nearly a year of knowing her without a mention of Diarmont Stanhope and tonight the dead man loomed between them. Cullen didn’t let go of her arm, or move to return his weapon to its sheath. Essa remained, still as death. She held his dagger in one hand, the other gripping the back of his neck with taut fingers, holding her flush against him, shoulders to knees.  Her feet were between his, bare toes just brushing the carpet.

“Did he teach you this too?” Cullen asked softly.

He  _moved_  then, releasing her arm and catching her by the wrist. His knife fell from her grasp, clattering the floor as he twisted her arm behind her back. The hand at his neck slid forward, quick as a serpent, forearm slamming into his throat hard enough to bruise as Cullen shoved upward on the arm that he held, straining her shoulder joint and pressing her ever more closely to him.

“You have me in muscle,” Essa said between gritted teeth. “But I will make you hurt me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice strained against the hard line of her arm.

The warmth of her body seeped through the layers of cotton and linen between them and Cullen was reminded—Maker help him—that she wore nothing beneath her robe.  For too many strangled breaths, he found himself distracted by the soft press of her breasts against his chest and the heavy silk of her hair as it fell forward to drag over his collarbone. His grip gentled, but Cullen still didn’t let go; she moved only enough to give him air.

“Don’t ever stop me from walking away when I’m angry,” Essa ordered, oblivious to his treacherous thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” Cullen said quietly.

His temper was finally returning to his control. Lust and rage, he thought with self-mockery. Yes, he could see exactly how those would be Essa’s demons, and perhaps his own. Cullen returned his knife to the sheath at his back and waited for her to release him. She didn’t.

“You risk too much,” Essa whispered.

Her mask was gone, but Cullen still couldn’t untangle the turmoil in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated; the apology was all he had to give, and he knew it wasn’t enough. “’I was a shit’.”

He handed back words that she had given him months before, hoping she would laugh.

She didn’t. Instead, Cullen watched her anger cool. He knew the moment she finally registered the intimate press of their bodies with anything outside of her fury. Essa’s eyes widened a fraction, then clouded like smoke. She searched his face in confusion, lungs catching, muscles tensing further for a heartbeat before yielding too perfectly against his. Cullen called himself every kind of fool as he bent his face to hers.  

“Ruin,” she murmured, voice breaking. “This way lies ruin.”

But Essa didn’t move, and her eyes were a bold dare.

Cullen didn’t kiss her, though by the Maker, he wanted to. He nuzzled her cheek with his nose and she jumped, skittish. He should have pulled away then, would have, but her arm had moved from his throat, sliding back behind his neck and as she clung, her fingers toyed idly with his hair.  He feathered a kiss across her cheek, light and chaste, the faintest contact before he lowered his head to her shoulder and wrapping both arms around her.

“It is not your temptation that I fear.” The confession breathed against the pulse pounding in her neck. He could taste her in the heat coming from her skin. His lips hovered, until a soft sigh shook from her.  “It is my own.”

He waited for her to pull away from him. Instead, there were subtle shifts of her body as she returned his embrace.

“What are you doing?” There was uncertainty in her frantic whisper.

“It’s a hug." Cullen spoke with every bit of nonchalance he could muster. “You seem to have caught on well enough.”

She snorted, arms tightening around him for a moment.

“I do not retract the offer of my friendship so easily, Essa Trevelyan.”

“It’s only sort of a hug,” she retorted, ignoring his declaration.

She pressed against him as if to remind him that they were no longer in platonic territory. Cullen lifted his head from her shoulder.

“You said you wanted no secrets between us,” he managed with a perfectly straight face.

She stared up at him for so long that he knew she saw through the bluff. The question was, would she call him on it, or let them both have the reprieve?

“Did you,” the words were a breathless rush of disbelief. “Did you just make a terrible  _pun_  about this?”

His lips curled up in a half smile as Essa finally stepped back. “Maybe. You’ve mentioned you love puns.”

She smiled faintly. “I do. Cullen…” his name faded into a sigh, but it was Cullen’s turn to stop her from speaking.

“You’re leaving tomorrow,” he reminded her gently. “Give me this. Let me pretend that we are alright. I will have the winter to think on what you told me, Essa. And I will, truly.”

“Pretending is bad.”

“Poor choice of words,” he agreed. “Just…don’t be angry with me for something I’ve not yet figured out. I’m trying not to be angry with you for the same.”

She nodded, retreated still more, steps taking her farther away from him and toward the fire.  It brightened as she neared. Cullen watched as she tugged off her gloves, held pales hands out toward greedy flames.

“Talk to Bull,” Essa entreated without looking at him. “Tell him how badly I bungled my confession. Ask him anything you might want to know. These are my secrets that he keeps, and he knows that you should have them too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! We have officially made it to the end of book four. Please let me know what you think!
> 
> Please check out the Author's Note if any of this gets nutty. I've written a lot out of chronology on tumblr and am now trying to put everything into a proper organization. It's not easy! 
> 
> A note about the drabbles and what lies between this and book 5:
> 
> First Winter is a Cullen-centric drabble series that encompasses that first winter at Skyhold. Team building, friendship, hearth and home, all while Essa is away questing. 
> 
> After First Winter is Spring. This includes Essa's return, the introduction for her sister Cari, and the chess match.


End file.
